


martyrs and kings

by hellevator



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 09:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellevator/pseuds/hellevator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>so now i'll play your enemy, the only word you can find for me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes, he thought they were all just actors. if no one was looking-- they didn't really exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically, this is a (mafia/romeo and juliet??) AU (with a lot of canon influences) set two years in the future. ian is 19, everyone else is aged accordingly.

          Six figures lined the wall of the waiting room. None of them knew why they were here. It should have felt ridiculous - waiting in que for your father's attention. But it didn't because and none of them wanted it anyway. Except the younger ones-- Carl and Liam. They had yet to fully come to terms with the cold reality that they only thought they needed Frank's affections. That this was all built on a firm foundation of selfish means linked to a faulty layer of bullshit. That they would all be better off without him.  
  
The last time all of the Gallagher children had been called in here at once was to inform them that their mother had tried to kill herself. Ian knew he should care, that he should be worried right now that it had something to do with the woman that gave birth to him. But she had abandoned them long before he decided to wash his hands of the situation. So fair was fair.

  
Besides, Ian was stuck clinging to this lousy feeling that he knew exactly why they were here. This certain notion that it had nothing to do with his mother or his siblings.   
  
What he didn't know was whether he would be leaving on his own accord or in an ambulance. The only feeble glimpse of hope being that he really didn't think his father could hurt one of them. Physically, to enough of a degree to warrant a body bag at least. The verbal assault, that had been on-going since he could remember and Ian tried to convince himself it didn't even bother him anymore. It was one guilt trip after another condescending lecture with Frank Gallagher. He just couldn't manage vilifying his father enough to the point that he thought he was capable of killing one of his own children.  
  
He was stupid for being so sure of it. Ever since Monica had left for good, his father had been on his way to a more precise, more self destructive insanity. Which did not bode well for any of them. I mean, when your dad supplied drugs to some of Chicago's biggest criminals, you kind of wanted him to have a good head on his shoulders. You wanted to be positive he would keep you safe or not make stupid, ignorant decisions. You wanted to be sure of the fact that he was handling business as usual.  
  
But Frank had always had a way of fucking things up. So nothing had changed after all. It was by sheer luck and unfaltering charm he had made it this long to begin with. And it was purely from a power complex and twisted co-dependency that he had decided to drag them along for the ride.  
  
A mess of negative energy was clashing in the center of the room, causing the air to be quiet and sick with tension. Fiona had been tapping her foot against the polished floor, her black running sneakers (purposefully) leaving dark marks against stained wood. Sometimes Ian would notice her, really notice her, and it always shocked him how much older she seemed day by day. She was still young and beautiful, he knew that, but sometimes, and maybe only noticed by knowing eyes, the stress of their lives caused her appetite to vanish and she would start to look skeletal. It was the bat signal when it came to knowing whether or not Fiona was about to crack.   
  
He wished she wouldn't put so much pressure on herself. It was pointless. Their life was what it was and there was nothing she could do to change it. But somehow she felt responsible for all of this. So she occupied her time with doing her best to ensure their safety. A role she had taken on ever since Liam was born and their mother left. Ever since she found out the nanny had made Lip skip two meals for correcting her grammar mistakes and beat Carl for acting out. Ever since she realized how much power her family held and how much danger they were all truly in. Ever since they had acknowledged that no one really cared about them.  
  
So they would have to look out after one another to get out of this unharmed. To not be invisible. Sometimes, he thought they were all just actors and if no one was watching, they didn't really exist. It wasn't an all-around sad thought. He could find comfort in it if he searched hard enough.   
  
  
His sister's arms folded tightly against her chest as she eyed each one of them fleetingly. They all knew that if it weren't for the two hired body guards standing in front of the door to Frank's office, she would be going off. Questioning while trying not to come off terribly accusing and making everyone get their stories straight. Because Fiona wouldn't be thinking this had something to do with Monica, she would be thinking one of her idiot brothers had did something to piss off Frank. And she was probably right.  
  
"Why hello there, children!" Their dad's voice boomed, muffled at first behind mahogany before the thick doors swung open with such momentum he almost spilled his whiskey, ice clanking against the thick glass he clutched. "How nice to see all of you at once. You do remember me, right? Your loving and devoted father?" His tone was familiar and patronizing and it made Ian want to regret what he felt for his own blood. But he had grown up over the past couple of years. He'd gone from guilty conscience to common sense and tried to never look back.  
  
"The one that puts a roof over your ungrateful asses, remember? The one that finances all of your petty delinquency." Fiona grabbed Liam's shoulder and pushed him behind her, handing him her phone so that he could play that stupid doodle game he loved so much. Her patience for Frank's behavior was getting weaker by the second, the way her fingernails were digging into her skin as she turned back must have only been to ground her and remind her it wouldn't be worth the headache. It never was.  
  
Fiona was the only one Frank would really listen to, if only just barely. Lip, sure. When it came to analysis and money laundering, anyway. But she would get that crazy look in her eyes that must have scared something out of the career criminal that happened to barely, just barely, be their father.     
  
"Fiona," Frank moved as he talked to stand in front of her, swaying gently from side to side. Fiona's nose squished at the smell of his breath and she pushed a palm out to stagger him back. "Aren't you enjoying that new car I just bought you?"  
  
"I told you, I don't want it, Frank. The one I have now is fine. It's been good to me."  
  
"You see? What did I tell you. Ungrateful.. Everything I give you, you just stick your nose in the air, like you're too good for it. Bullshit!" He quickly lost interest in belittling his oldest daughter. They all knew he only moved away because Fiona looked like she was about to light on fire. Instead, Frank turned quickly on his heels to face Ian. Because breaking him always posed as less of a risk than bothering the other children. The redhead didn't know why-- maybe he just lacked the flame.   
  
"And Ian," Frank started, taking a swig of the dark brown liquid that seemed to fuel the hatred in his tone even more. "Aren't you enjoying that expensive college I'm sending you to? Being able to have your own apartment in the city. Allowing you to stay here during the summers. Haven't I given you everything you've ever asked for?"  
  
"Yes." No.  
  
"Then imagine my surprise, kids!" He turned slightly to face the rest of them, hands up in the air so animatedly that Ian hoped the glass would slip and hit him right in the temple. At least hard enough to get a concussion. The kind that came with amnesia. Or a total personality change.  
  
"When I find out that Ian Gallagher, my son, the boy who carries my name forth into this world, has been caught canoodling," his voice was so grating and obnoxious at that moment that Ian wanted to take the glass and smash it against his head himself.  "With Mickey Milkovich. Of all fucking people!"  
  
He really wasn't sure what it was about the mentioned Milkovich that made him so damn careless and stupid, because he knew better. He knew when Kash, one of his dad's employees, caught them in Ian's car behind the hardware store-- he knew right then that it was over. Because Kash was an idiot that could hold a grudge like a scorned woman and the fact that Ian had been sleeping with him pre-Mickey and broke it off over him should have been enough to spell out that they were both dead men.  
  
Mickey hadn't even noticed the shadow of Kash's body against the window, he was far too oblivious to anything remotely important when he was shoved against leather seats, fingers clawing for more muscle to grip against. Ian never chose to bring it up after. Because Mickey had been in an unusually good mood that night. Who was he to stop it?  
  
So, like he knew he would, Kash had spilled his secrets. Probably got a fucking promotion out of it. Ian hoped he could have the chance to thank him in person soon. You know, for outing him in front of his entire family.  
  
"So? What do you have to say for yourself?" Ian was lost in a panicked thought and Frank was growing impatient.  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about." The ease of his words startled him but he couldn't stop himself from looking over at Lip. Only for a moment. He didn't need to drag him underneath the water of his bad decisions as well. His brother cleared his throat and stepped towards Frank, putting a hand up to his shoulder.  
  
"Frank--"  
  
"Oh, don't give me that shit," Lip was cut off, verbally and physically as Frank interrupted and shoved his wrist down. His face contorted into a squint. "You know, I always knew you were gay, I just didn't know you were such a god damn pussy. I suppose that must be why I've never really liked you. You're too much like your mother."  With one command, the guards had grabbed both of Ian's arms and pressed him tightly back against the wall. "I think it's time you learned a lesson." 

  
Ian just held his chin up and stared straight ahead of him. No way in hell was he going to indulge him with a reaction. Even if the corners of his eyes watered, it was not from fear of the impending beating-- It was from words that stung and shouldn't have meant a damn thing yet meant everything at the same exact time.  
  
The first few fists knocked against his rib cage burned with an intensity he had longed to forget. He watched as Fiona pushed Lip towards them and turned to stop Carl from stomping forward. What the kid thought he was going to do, who knew. There was nothing but undoubted loyalty in the way his younger brother kicked and screamed, trying to reach for the asshole that seemed to be in control.  
  
Lip had taken the chance to shove in between their bodies, his back pressing up against Ian's torso, eliciting a faint groan. Handling the soreness would be easy, but he couldn't shake the feeling of shame that seared hotter than any of the bruising flesh.  His younger brothers and sister shouldn't be here and shouldn't have to see any of this.  
  
"Danny, come on man, back off," Lip pushed forward against the stocky body guard, creating relieving space between the three of their bodies. Danny stumbled back, looking conflicted.  
  
"Now, don't do that." Frank practically whined, like this had been explained a million times before. "This is Meathead Number One," he pointed to Danny and then to the other, Pat, "and this is Meathead Number Two. Don't go giving them names, son. You give them names, they start to think you give a shit. If they think you give a shit, they start asking for things like paid vacations and sick days. Is that what you want when this is all yours someday? Meat head number one enjoying his time in Fiji on your dime? Because I expect better fr-"  
  
" _Frank_!" Yelling out was Lip's only option to get their father off of his soap box and if no one did it this could turn into a five minute long King Frank circle jerk. "I'm just saying we don't have to do it like this. I'll handle it, alright?"  
  
Ian thought maybe that crazy look that bloomed in Fiona's eyes from time to time could be genetic, he simply hadn't learned it yet like her and Lip had because Frank seemed to deflate a little after a long glance at his eldest son. Like a child that didn't get what they wanted but was too tired to throw a tantrum about it afterward.  
  
"Lip," Frank seemed to have a passing thought, cocking his head to the side a little bit. "My boy genius. Tell me you didn't know that your brother was a god damn traitor and didn't even have the decency to let your old pal in on the big secret. Isn't that what we are? Pals? Because sometimes I get the feeling you don't have the passion for this that you should have. Tell me you didn't already know about this."  
  
"No." Yes. But Ian understood the reply. "I didn't know about any of it, alright? But look, Frank, I'll talk to him. And if I have to knock some fucking sense into him myself I will but I'm not going to stand here and watch someone else do it. We're better than that."  
  
Their dad stopped to contemplate-- A rare moment of silence, to say the least. Eventually his mouth flung open and he looked at them all before his eyes landed back on Ian. "Alright then, you backstabbing little shit. Consider yourself on complete and utter lockdown. You aren't going to do so much as take a piss without Lip by your side. And your brother will report back to me. If I hear one thing about _any_ of the Milkovich's, I'll cut you off so fast it'll knock the wind out of you. And don't think you can come back here begging for forgiveness. I won't have any trouble sleeping at night knowing you're in the gutter."  
  
Just as Frank was about to leave, just as this was all about to be over, Ian had to go and open his fucking mouth.

 

Sometimes, when he felt like he was drowning, he wondered why it was basic human instinct to suck in a large breath of air. Giving in to things you didn't understand.  
  
"You can't tell Terry. He'd kill him." He knew he shouldn't have said it, but he had to, because it _needed to be said_ for fucks sake and all the disappointed glances from Lip in the world wouldn't have been enough for him to take it back.  
  
"As much as that would please me, and it truly would," Frank paused to grin, staring down at his drink like he was recalling fond memories before his face hardened. "I already have enough problems.. I don't need to poke the hive. Of course, you've already poked it for me, haven't you?" He laughed dryly at his own terrible joke but no one else in the room seemed to relate to his sense of humor.  
  
Their dad then surprised them by navigating towards Debbie, drunken steps squeaking against the floor. He reached a hand up to pat the top of her head. "I hear you're doing good in ballet. That's great, sweetie." The teenager simply rolled her eyes and huffed a little, looking to Fiona for guidance. Luckily, Frank's attention had been since drawn to the lack of liquid in his glass and a short escape back to his office was made to remedy the situation, Danny and Pat following close behind him.  
  
As soon as the metal lock clinked into place, Fiona held out her hands, exhausted. These were the chains that held them down and they felt tighter than ever in that moment, most of his siblings eyes searching for answers he didn't have.   
  
"Ian, what the _fuck_?"

 

 

 


	2. crimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they breathed the same air, it was just done differently.

 

                 "I have to do something. What if Frank gets blackout drunk and starts telling the boys? What then?" The redhead was laying on his bed, his feet propped up on the wall. His brother had been sitting next to him and they passed a joint between chewed up fingernails, their ears on alert to any sounds of footsteps in the hall.

"I don't know." Lip twisted his shoulder around until it cracked, a long string of smoke blowing from his mouth at the relief. "Have you really sat down and asked yourself-- I mean, is he really worth it? 'Cause come on, Ian. I understand that you have your own idea of what happiness is, I understand all that Nietzsche shit about our own paths. But seriously, have you even tried finding someone else to fuck before you throw all your chips in on a psychopath? You can do better than these fucking creeps you keep ending up around."

"He's not a psychopath. He's not even a creep, really. You don't know him. You haven't seen the way he acts when it's just the two of us. I mean, yeah, he's still an asshole, but there's just.. There's more there than you think." Ian sat up to stub out the roach in the ashtray, the last puffs of smoke being coughed out into the air. He was the lucky recipient of one long, concerned stare that ultimately turned into the faintest smile.

"You know, sometimes I worry about your mental health.. But hey, by all means-- do what you have to do. I mean, who am I to stand between true love? I've always wanted a young Charles Manson as my brother-in-law anyway." A tanned arm was stretching out and before Ian knew it he was being squeezed against his brother's side, still having to lean even closer when his voice lowered to barely a whisper. "But you know the consequences if you fuck up. I can't help you here. You're on your own."

The redhead nodded, staring down at his comforter. "I know."

"Good. So it's settled. I'll cover for you tonight. But then that's it. I'm serious." The oldest Gallagher brother tugged on his leather jacket, pulling until it was snug against his back. "Well, tell Ted Bundy I said hello. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Except the whole gay sex thing, that's totally alright with me. I still don't really get it, but whatever.. Seriously, does he ever even shower?"

Ian had already pulled out his phone to send a text to Mickey so all his brother got in return was a middle finger pointed in his direction.

Even though he and Lip had said their goodbyes five minutes ago, even though his room was now empty with plenty of spare room to tape together regret stained sentences, Gallagher was still staring at a blank draft message. He couldn't articulate what he needed to say. He didn't know how Mickey would react. It mixed underneath his thin flesh and combined into a misery that he couldn't quite form words about either.

Bits and pieces from the first night dirty fingernails scratched across a sunburned, freckled cheek came to memory and he wasn't sure if it made everything better or everything that much worse. But he slowly remembered it all, the night that their lives had crashed head on.

The wreckage was still cluttering his thoughts, outcomes clashing one against the next.

 

 

* * *

 

  
_Two years ago_

             Girls were such mysteries to Ian. The kind of mystery that wasn't even intriguing. He was perfectly content not unlocking the secrets Mandy Milkovich had to offer-- he just wished she could be on time once in a while. Was that so much to ask?

Before her mom had died and before their families had started a war with one another, Ian and Mandy used to be friends. They went to the same private school and were inseparable. Their mother's even got high or drunk together once in a while so that they could have a play date. A strong bond had been created almost instantly. It was nothing out of context, either. He knew he didn't like girls, even back then. Mandy had just always been a breath of fresh air. Someone to calm him down and reassure him there were people out there more fucked up than his family. Her own bloodline, for instance.

The night must have been at least 7 years ago, but after Terry had snapped and pulled a gun on Frank in the middle of dinner, they had made a pact to not let their father's dictate who they were or weren't friends with. It wasn't Ian's fault that Frank had an affair with Mandy's mom and was with her the night she overdosed. Likewise, it wasn't Mandy's fault that Terry was selling guns to their rivals behind Frank's back in hopes of someone taking him out.

The park they met at was run down and off the beaten path. They didn't have to worry about people seeing them. One of the lamp lights even still worked - but it wouldn't have mattered if they were in the pitch black darkness of the night. As long as Ian had someone to complain about his life to that wouldn't judge him or listen just because they thought they had to. Or worse, someone who just wanted to be around him because of his family and how cool they thought the whole thing was. The retards who lacked common sense and thought everything was from a Goodfellas movie. Mandy would cling to his side and they would share cigarettes while divulging in gossip or retelling family secrets.

Throughout the years, the comfort he found in being around her was worth risking his father's wrath. But when she was late and gave no explanation, that just pissed him off.

Finally, just as he was about to take his phone out, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. But instead of relief, he tensed. It definitely wasn't the sound of heels clanking down against the pathway, something he'd grown accustomed to announcing his best friends arrival. The steps were heavy, like someone was wearing boots but didn't bother to tie the laces, like they had to stomp down to keep their shoe from coming off. Ian didn't even bother turning around, instead he decided it was a better idea to take off. He didn't know who was behind him or why but he wasn't keen on finding out, either. He just hoped that if it was someone with ill intentions, the fact that Ian had actually tied his shoes and wasn't some lazy asshole meant he could out-run them.

"Gallagher?" The voice was so familiar it sent a chill down the redhead's spine. The tone may have been deeper now, angrier now, but he could place it exactly. It was someone that used to make a hobby out of knocking around Ian during recess, painting his nose red with blood and laughing about it afterwards. It was only too fitting, because Lip had always told him his life was too full of parallels to be taken seriously. And he tried to deny it, but look where they were after all these years-- in the middle of a god damn playground. He had gotten his first beating in one, he had his first taste of alcohol in one, he lost his virginity in one, and now he was going to fucking die in one.

Ian had only made it bolting ten feet into the grass before there was a sharp tug on the back collar of his shirt. The momentum of the arm pulling down caused him to fall straight on his ass and this just didn't make any sense. It's not like Mandy would have told her brother about them. She was crazy, but she wasn't stupid. Mickey was Terry's cherished son and definitely the most violent out of the Milkovich children. He was the one who would take over someday, much like Lip. Only the stories Ian shared about Lip were usually amusing. The stories Mandy shared about Mickey were usually sickening.

From the slight glow of the street lamp, he could tell there were already bloodstains littering the sleeves of the man's shirt. How the fuck did he have so much money, yet manage to look so dirty all the time? Mandy had always joked that there should be a quarantine for people like her brother. Ian had never agreed as full-heartedly as he did just then.

"Mickey? What-.. What're you doing here?" Nice one. It would have been more intimidating to ask him if he was enjoying his stroll through the park this evening for fucks sake. Maybe then his voice wouldn't have shook so much.

"What am _I_ doing here? What the fuck are _you_ doin' here." Ian grunted when he felt the guy's boot land against his side. He managed to get onto his knees, attempting to push himself back into a standing position but was pushed back down. He didn't know at the time that this would be the first of many beatings all coming back to the same, depressing conclusion. If he had, he would have just let Mickey kill him and get it over with.

As hard as he tried, he couldn't for the life of him come up with an excuse as to why he was alone in an abandoned park surrounded by even emptier, rotting buildings. And since he couldn't give Mickey what he wanted, which was probably the truth, his mouth started to ramble out the first thing that popped into his head.

"I was just making a shortcut back to my car-"

"Cut the bullshit." Mickey scoffed, shaking his head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Mandy's cellphone, the zebra printed cover giving it away. Proof that squashed any hopeful doubt of this all being a coincidence.

"So you're the guy Mandy's been sneaking around with this whole time. Didn't think a fag like you could bag a chick like my sister, Gallagher. Color me impressed." There was a sociopathic nature to Mickey's words, the way his eyes were lit with anger but his words seemed calm and collected. He had pulled Ian back up to his feet and was about to land a punch directly on the redhead's jaw before he ducked down, avoiding a broken bone. Reacting quickly, he grabbed onto Mickey's waist, flinging them both to the ground. He stood far more of a chance with wrestling the man into a headlock and choking him out than he ever did with fists.

Mickey may have been shorter but he was better built and even so, what he lacked physically he made up for in pure experience. His muscles weren't from hours spent at a gym. They were from throwing people around and too much testosterone. Every time his knuckles made contact with Ian's face or kidneys, a blinding pain threatened to black him out.

What felt like hours couldn't have been more than a few seconds. The only thing that snapped Ian out of his daze was the sound of a gun's safety clicking out of place. Mickey had both legs pinning down Ian's shoulders, both hands firmly holding the gun inches from his mouth. As they both struggled to catch their breath, he looked for any way out of the grip but the guy was dead weight on top of him and rash movements may have sent him over the edge. Just when he thought Mickey was going to pull the trigger, he heard the sound of metal dropping against the ground.

Ian's eyes opened but they were careful because maybe Mickey had decided to do this the old fashioned way. A nice drawn out choking or some kind of torture device. A pistol would be too quick of a death for the bad blood that stood between them. But Mickey was..

Hard? Ian stared up in disbelief. The bulge in the older guy's jeans wasn't a hallucination and there must have been some kind of signal when green eyes met blue ones because once his hormones caught up to his brain they were both ripping each other's clothes off, the damp grass beneath them leaving stains on elbows and knees during the cloudy rush of it all.

 

It wasn't until afterwards when Mickey was pulling back on his jeans and buttoning them that Ian finally ncoticed the tattoos across his knuckles. Clouds were covering the moon but the letters 'Fuck U-Up' were still distinguishable. It made him smile-- that the Milkovich's could have all the money in the world and still win first place in a white trash contest. Some things were engraved into your DNA and no matter how hard you fought, you couldn't run away from them. It made him feel a little better about himself, those silly words scribbled across scabbed fingers.

Maybe they were more alike than they thought. Just like him and Mandy had been. They breathed the same air.. It was just done differently. The Gallagher's were cunning and charming, adapting to whatever suited them. The Milkovich's were explosive and intimidating, gasping and flopping around when taken out of their element. Maybe there was room for them to meet in the middle.

Or, on second thought, maybe he should just be grateful he didn't have a bullet through his skull. Those thoughts took back seat to the way Mickey's eyes were dodging, searching for a weakness to escape through. He looked beautiful and cruel and Ian was completely fucking enamored.

It was like a whole new world had just opened up in front of his eyes. This was a secret he wanted to figure out. This mystery was worth solving. He wanted to dole out reassurances, let the guy know he'd never tell anyone about what just happened. But it looked like Mickey just knew. And Ian thought that was stupid, trusting someone that's supposed to be your enemy.

Fingers reached for the gun on the ground and the irony was lost on Ian as he grabbed it by the handle to give back. The older one just shook his head at him and secured the .9 mm back between his waistband.

There were a million questions that could have been asked. Why had he decided to snoop through Mandy's messages? After all this time? Surely, he'd known something was up for a while. More importantly, even if it was a selfish thought, would he let this happen again? Because Ian was sure he'd never felt such an electricity from one person in his entire life and even if it meant he had to get electrocuted over and over, he wanted it. He wanted all the agony Mickey had to offer and it'd only been twenty minutes. During reflection, that should have been a red flag. Always so much easier to see things clear in hindsight.

When the redhead leaned in, hoping to feel chapped lips against his own, he was met with a hand against his chest, stopping the force that wanted to pull them together.

"Kiss me and you'll fuckin' regret it."

There was the slightest tinge of sadness in Mickey's eyes, and Ian wasn't just projecting that either. He'd seen the look too many times to not be able to call someone on their bluff.

But he wouldn't. He never did.

 

* * *

 

 

  
          Really, it felt like a lifetime ago. Two exhausting years. It's not as if he was wanting to change anything. It's just with Mandy, it had always seemed so easy. But with Mickey, he was so careless. He would blame it on being young and dumb, but they weren't that young anymore and they weren't that stupid to begin with.

Both of them may have been criminals in their own right, sure-- but this wasn't one of their crimes. He'd done enough illegal things before to know what that felt like, even if it were small and barely noticeable nowadays. This was different. No one could convince him otherwise.

 

Reminiscing caused jitters in his stomach that floated underneath injuries and healed absolutely nothing. Tapping away at the touch screen keyboard, Ian finally decided he had to do this and he couldn't be selfish because if this got back to Mickey's dad without any warning, anything could happen. There wasn't enough vacancy left in his conscience to let that happen.

 

**To** : Mick   
 _9:18 PM_  
I need to see you.

**From** : Mick   
 _9:23 PM_  
to bad. u kno im workin tonight.

**To** : Mick  
 _9:24 PM_  
It's important.

**From** : Mick   
 _9:30 PM_  
idc

**To** : Mick   
 _9:32 PM_  
Meet me by the bridge at 11.

**To** : Mick  
 _9:35 PM_  
Please.

**From** : Mick  
 _9:47 PM_  
fuck alrite. whatever.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have most of this written out already but i wasn't sure if anyone would actually want to read it. so yeah, feedback would be awesome.


	3. conflicts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they were saying the same things, just interpreting them differently.

         At the sight of the dark haired man slowly walking towards him, Ian's stomach filled up with knots and nots and won'ts. His shadow wasn't at all as threatening as it had been two summers ago. Instead, it brought out feelings that should have been saved for romance novels and chick flicks. Things real people weren't supposed to really feel because it came with real turmoil that weak willed people would never understand. Though Mickey still kept his secrets guarded, there were some details that could be slowly figured out. When you spent almost every night together-- twisting, choking from the grip of someone else's hand clenched to your judgment, it was hard to not break down weak walls. The kind that shouldn't have been made foundations to begin with.  
  
The bridge was the same one they would hide under during hot July days to shade their skin from the burning sun. At night, they would set up makeshift target practices sometimes and hold bets for who could get the most deadly shots. Ian always won. It's not that he was better with a gun, it just came more naturally to him. Something Mickey would bitch about to no end, especially when the bet involved getting on your knees.  
  
It was only under the moonlight when it was just the two of them and the stars that Mickey let himself be the most transparent. It didn't take Ian long to figure out that the scars on the tops of his knuckles weren't from stupid mistakes, they were territory marks and a constant reminder of his worth. Although, recently, his hands had smelt of gun powder far more often than of sweat and blood. No one ever talked about it.  
  
The filth on his skin wasn't from a lack of hygiene, it was layers of self hatred he used to hide from himself. Ian had began to wash it away, one small seemingly meaningless action at a time. That was their secret and their secret alone. Or he figured it was anyway, because neither of them ever talked about that, either.  
  
And the liquor that soaked his breath wasn't ever from celebrations, it was purely a coping mechanism. Sometimes, the redhead thought Mickey only drank to forget what an asshole he was. Then the ex-convict would go and say something that almost, just slightly, sounded like a compliment and Ian would watch as he would drink to forget his softer side even more. They definitely weren't going to be talking about that.  
  
"Gotta make this quick. Cops are lookin' for me." The older guy had already pushed both their bodies to be hidden underneath the arch of the bridge, shielded from light. Nimble fingers were unbuttoning his jeans expertly but just as they hooked inside of his waistband, Ian's unsteady hands came down to stop them.  
  
"Well, what the fuck do you want then?" Mickey huffed as he stepped back. There was an expectant nature in the way his body turned to the side, ready to leave. But ultimately, surrounded by silence, he sighed and his shoulders relaxed as he reached for a smoke. The flame from the lighter hit his face and accentuated only the bad features that Ian still couldn't manage to find unattractive.    
  
"Why are they looking for you?" The redhead reached for the cigarette but was shoved away with an annoyed glance.  
  
"Jesus christ, can I get to know it first?" When he was on edge like he was now, the saner choice was not to press. But after two more long and drawn out drags, the cigarette was handed over along with an explanation. "They think I killed someone."  
  
"Did you?"  
  
"Nah," there was a bitter laugh that was pushed out through tar covered lungs. The redhead knew Mickey would lie to him sometimes-- not in a deceitful way necessarily, just in a way that shadowed things he thought no one should have to see. It was one of the least selfish things he did, really. "They don't know shit from shit. This is all about saving face so that they can pretend they do their fuckin' jobs."  
  
Half of the police force was on Terry Milkovich's pay roll. So the news didn't scare Ian, didn't cause him to worry that he would be going back to prison. Still, he frowned, because the guy was better than any of this and there was no way of explaining just how and why but that didn't make it any less true.  
  
"So.. What the fuck are we doing out here?" Mickey questioned once again and Ian's fingers tried to find words in the cracked bricks resting behind his back, the ones that lined underneath the bridge, but his mouth was as dry as the empty river bed they were standing on. All moisture was forming in his eyes instead and they betrayed him by leaking when he blinked-- but he didn't try to wipe the tears away because it was too late and he had already seen his vulnerability.  
  
The older man licked at his bottom lip, a nervous twitch. Ian had never let him see him cry before and he was expecting him to laugh, call him a pussy.. Or just leave. That's what he did the best.  
  
"What's wrong?" Mickey's tone showed his patience was growing weaker and Ian's resolve was already dust in the wind. He was still convinced this was going to end badly but maybe the guy just needed an answer before the taunting began. And he might have not deserved much from most people, but he did deserve to know.  
  
"Frank, he--.." The redhead stared at the ground, gripping the wall firmly behind him. The words were there, easily accessible from his mouth, it's not like he lost them or anything-- he just didn't want to say them. Period.  
  
"Frank _what_?" Mickey sneered, because sometimes old wounds could be ripped open with something as elementary as a name. And it was those little reminders that they shouldn't have anything but hate between one another that he resented the most.  
  
"Frank knows. About us." And it's not that Gallagher wasn't expecting the shake of anxiety that rolled through the guy's body, but that didn't make him any less uneasy watching it. "He said he wouldn't say anything, though. I mean, I believe him, Mick. He's got enough problems. I just wanted you to know-- I felt like you should know.."  
  
There were a few moments of panicked restlessness before Mickey seemed to find any clarity. Before he got a handle on the situation and was able to swallow down all the frays that had started to burst at his seems. But for those few, short minutes, Ian saw nothing but a scared little boy.  
  
"Well, I gotta kill him, I guess," Mickey wouldn't make eye contact. He wanted to come off as cool and collected. He didn't know that no one was buying it.  
  
"You.. Come on, Mickey. You can't kill Frank." If this was just some kind of test, Ian failed miserably. "You know that won't solve anything."  
  
"You don't know anything about me. Don't tell me what I can or can't do. I should have done it years ago." He was yelling now and had pulled himself closer to the redhead. Whether it was for emphasis or comfort, he didn't know. "Like anyone would give a shit if Frank died, who are you kidding?"

 

And it was true, no one would care. No one that mattered, anyway. But Frank being dead would shove Lip into the spotlight and none of them were ready for that. They were still a bunch of fucking kids in most eyes. They weren't the people you entrusted with an empire. 

  
  
"I-- I don't want you to."  
  
"Yeah well, I don't give a shit."  
  
"Oh, okay," Ian was starting to get angry, not that he really knew why. He understood where the guy was coming from, he just didn't like where he was going. "So why not just kill Terry? I mean, if human life means absolutely nothing to you like you try to pretend, you might as well just kill the infection at it's fuckin' source."  
  
"Say one more stupid thing and I swear to fucking god I'll--" The words were spat out as Mickey shoved forward, his forearm crossing against Ian's neck and holding him back against the bricks.  
  
"You'll what? You'll kill me too? Who the fuck are _you_ kidding?" He grabbed the arm that had started to cut off his breath and threw it back against it's owner's body. "Mick, everything will be fine. We can make it through this." He didn't know where his optimism had sprung from, but it was a short lived relief.  
  
" _We_?" Mickey scoffed, shaking his head. If laughter was what was coming out of his mouth, it sure didn't sound anything like it. "Look, kid, I don't know what goes on in that pathetic head of yours but I'm not your fuckin' boyfriend and there is no we. _I'm_ going to have to fix this by myself and _you_ don't exist anymore, you got it? You're dead to me."  
  
There might have been more words said, but Ian would never be able to know for sure. He wouldn't be able to picture Mickey walking away either, because the tears in his eyes clouded his vision so much that even furious blinking couldn't clear them. And he would never be able to imagine how much time he spent there, ending up slouched to the ground with his forehead pressed to his knees.  
  
He always thought that maybe they had been saying the same things all along-- only they were interpreting them differently. He couldn't have known how much it would hurt when it was shoved in his face just how utterly wrong he was.  


 

 

 

 

 


	4. cowards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> that wasn't reality, though. they were all born cowards and they would all die cowards.

 

 

           There were some unforgiving nights when a solid eight hours of sleep were ridden with images of blue eyes clashing against dark lashes, a soft pink tongue lapping against muscles that twitched under its touch. Tattooed fingers would silence moans that tried to escape, tightly wrapped around a neck slicked with so much sweat it made it hard to keep a good grip. They would be so vivid that when Ian woke up with his heart racing and his dick hard, he felt like he had to peel Mickey's scent off of his skin in order to fall back asleep.

Even in a fantasy land where he had the nerve to whisper out 'I love you's against a scarred shoulder, even when Ian was in control of the entire thing, Mickey was still too much of an asshole, too gutless to say anything back. His subconscious probably had a better handle on the situation than he did.

They weren't fantasies anyway, his dreams often seemed to manifest themselves into nightmares instead. It was familiar, but it was still a burden. The redhead had never been afraid of creatures lurking in his closet or under his bed, even as a kid. He was smart enough to realize at a very young age that the only monstrosities that existed in this world were people and what's the point in fearing something you're an active part of? How can you be afraid when monsters were what made you. When they were what ran through your blood, thicker than tar, eating up all your oxygen.

Mornings were always the same routine. Wake up, realize for the fiftieth time that his life was still utter shit, then smoke a joint and try to fall back asleep. Sometimes, if he really felt like torturing himself, he would pull out his phone and go through their old text messages. He would start at the top and always found himself reminiscing like it were a movie he had seen a thousand times. There was one text that always made him stop, it was sent just five days before the last time he'd seen Mickey and it was one of the only nice things Mickey had ever said-- At least the only thing there was definite proof of. Just words on a screen that couldn't be retracted or thrown in his face later.

  
**From** : Mick

_2:46 AM_

so meet me. relieve sum stress?

  
**To** : Mick

_2:48 AM_

What're you gonna do when I go back to college?

 

**From** : Mick

_3:05 AM_

idk maybe if i remind u enough school is for idiots u wont go back

  
**From** : Mick

_3:05 AM_

cuz ppl here might miss ya u selfish fuck

 

**From** : Mick

_3:06 AM_

im wasted. we bangin or wat

  
**To** : Mick

_3:08 AM_

:) I'll be there in 15.

 

He wasn't sure what the name of their movie would be, but something along the lines of _Replay Your Life Falling Apart_ or _You're A Delusional Fucking Idiot For Thinking You Could Ever Change Someone_. But the first one was a bit too dramatic and the last one was a little too lengthy for his tastes so maybe it would simply be called _Ian Gallagher: Dumbass Extraordinaire_.

It'd been exactly three weeks from the day of their last texts, a fact he wouldn't allow to sink in because the thought of not leaving his bed again today wasn't all that appealing. Lip had been in and out, keeping a close eye, as if he were fragile and needed constant impromptu therapy sessions. His brother would talk until he was winded, but Ian didn't have the heart to tell him he was trying to explain things that he was already well aware of. At least he'd made an effort. Fiona and the younger kids, too. Once they understood, or acted like they understood out of loyalty anyway.

It was only unfortunate because the one he really yearned for comfort from-- They would be the last person capable of doing so. The fact is, Mickey couldn't do it even if he wanted to. And the not knowing was enough for Ian to justify that he shouldn't attempt to move on yet. Pretending he had a choice in the matter helped him with a slight resemblance of strength.

Didn't matter if it was the make-believe type.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

          Even though there were grey buildings blocking the view, Ian could tell the sun was beginning to set behind the clouds that gathered in front of it. The sky was tinged a light pink and the air was slowly cooling down. Their popsicles had been melting from the heat and when a dark red drop fell on his hand, Mandy picked it up quickly to lick the sweet liquid up. He made a face, but stopped to cup her cheek for just a moment when she stuck her tongue out at him before his hand dropped back down to her leg that was lazily swung over his own.

He'd been more on edge, ever since the talk with Frank and this was the first time he'd seen Mandy since. He didn't want to get any of them killed but when he couldn't explain to her the reason everything had gotten more dangerous, she whined like she was being abandoned or something. His willpower instantly caved.

  
"So, Iggy's one screw up away from being a fucking corpse. He got so coked out last night he forgot to make the drop." Mandy threw her popsicle stick down on the bench and began to pick at her black nail polish, little bits and pieces falling to form a layer on her thighs. "If I wasn't around, Dad woulda just strangled him right then and there, I swear. I kept reminding him that Mickey would be home soon and everything could go back to normal."

"How's he doing, anyway?"

"Last I checked he was coming down pretty hard."

"No, I meant Mickey."

"Why the fuck do you care?"

"I don't. Just makin' conversation." Gallagher slurped up the last piece of flavored ice from the popsicle stick before setting his down next to Mandy's, making an 'x' out of them.

"He's _fine_ , I guess. I don't know, I just don't see why he did it. Dad woulda gotten him out of that bullshit murder charge but no way was he going to get him out of socking a pig in the face. Think of the backlash from all his buddies. And he hit _Tony_ , of all people. Officer Do-Good." She laughed, eyes still staring down at nails that had been perfectly manicured less than two minutes ago.

"Maybe he was running from something." He liked to picture that his best friend's brother really contemplated it all. Weighed decisions, pros and cons and whatnot. He savored the thought that he was capable of doing something that benefited them both. But did it even mean anything?

"Right--, I know you haven't seen him since like fourth grade or whatever but Mickey's not afraid of _anything_ anymore. I think he's just got serious daddy issues and wanted to prove to Dad how much of everything he really handled. 'Cause now Dad's got all this shit in his lap and Iggy caved under the pressure, like we all knew he would."

"Why don't they have you help instead?"

"Yeah, like Mickey would ever be okay with that. Overprotective asshole. The last time I went along to help, that Russian creep felt me up and I broke his jaw. Mickey likes to say that he's the one who did it but he's full of shit, I heard the bone crack before he even knew what was going on."

"Remind me to never piss you off."

"I don't think you could if you tried," she paused to tickle his side for a moment before relenting and pressing closer to him, her cheek coming down to rest on his shoulder. "Whatever though, I mean-- I just want him back home. Not 'cause I miss him or nothin', 'cause I don't. Just 'cause then I can stop being the mediator to these stupid fucks."

 

Ian nodded and the silence that followed was comfortable. She had laced their fingers together, their sweat mixing on their palms from the heat. It was gentle and that startled him because sometimes he forgot that word even existed in a Milkovich's world.

  
"You ever think you know someone, then it hits you all of a sudden that you really know nothing?" Ian turned his head slightly to look down at her. She looked quizzical, like this were some kind of trick question.

"No," she answered after a moment, perking her head back up from his shoulder to look at him more easily. "I like to think I'm pretty good at reading people."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes, you ass. Why? Am I not?"

"No, I didn't say that. I just meant I don't think I'm any good at it."

"You just need to practice. You can try with me." She moved her legs back so that both feet were planted on the ground and broke their hands apart to straighten up, crossing her arms over her chest.  
 

Ian's eyes looked her over, noticing things that were easily taken for granted after a lifelong friendship. It was depressing but all he could see when he looked at his best friend were invisible battle scars. The kind that made you hide behind just a little too much eyeliner and skirts so short they should come with matching underwear. He was sure if he opened her up, if he really got down to her ingredients, he'd find the same things he'd searched for under her brother's masks. A genuinely bad person that was only tragic because he knew they didn't actually want to be these terrible people. He saw it in every simple touch and heard it in every heavy breath.

"I'm waiting," Mandy cocked her head and looked at him expectantly and he could tell she was starting to get a little insecure underneath his prying eyes but the smile he gave her seemed to calm her nerves. He ended up saying the only thing that could really come to mind as the sky darkened behind his friend and the last hints of light bounced across her cheekbones.

  
"You're so beautiful. You know that?"

"I can't say it's not nice to hear," she grinned, her teeth still tinted blue from the popsicles she'd brought for them. Wrapping her arms around his torso, they were clung to one another for the second time that night and he could feel her breath hot against the skin of his neck as she spoke. "I love you, Gagger."

"I love you too, Skankabitch." He grabbed her legs and put them back over his knees, until he was practically coddling her like a child. It wasn't often that Ian got to cuddle with a Milkovich and he refused to be ashamed for a second of it. Something about them could temporarily fix what was broken. Even if they ended up shattering everything more in the end.  
   
She moved in to press her lips to his gently. It was okay, because this was just something they did sometimes. And he would never push her away. And tonight maybe he kissed her back just a little bit because her smile reminded him of someone. And maybe when she pulled away at the sound of a motorcycle passing behind the building, he wanted to confess everything. He wanted to let her in on the secrets that weren't even secrets anymore.

But he didn't, he never would, just like with everything else. So instead he sighed and grabbed a popsicle stick, aiming for her cleavage when he threw it. It ended up flicking her in the chin and before he knew it she was straddling his lap, holding the wooden stick across his neck as if it were a knife.

"You really think you could hurt someone with that?"

"You wanna find out?" She teased, pressing the wood harder against his throat as she shook her head a little to sweep her bangs to the side. All it took was a simple buck of his hips to throw her off balance so much that she tipped over, barely holding onto the bench enough to save her from falling to the ground.

"Yeah, I think you should stick with your tiaras and shiny cars, Princess. Leave the intimidation to the men." That statement was enough to earn anyone else a black eye but she slapped him upside the back of his head instead, fingers then moving quickly to jab against his stomach.

"You're lucky I like you, or else I'd send my brothers after you. Let's see who's the real man then."

"Whatever Mands," he rolled his eyes, brushing her off. "Lip could take them all without my help and you know it."

"Yeah, Lip's fucking dreamy like that."

"You've got so many issues, Cupcake." Mandy never tried to hide the fact that she had a thing for both of the Gallagher boys. It was all a really strange connection if he thought about it, or maybe it was just his mind drawing lines where there was no proof. But just like with Frank and her mother, there was some kind of pull insisting that the two families be apart of eachother's lives and punishing them when it was anything different. It's just too bad the dictators of their lives were assholes that couldn't let bygones be bygones. Things would be so much more tangible.

He would be able to tell her how he really felt and he wouldn't hold back. They could hang out whenever they wanted. They would finally be able to spend birthdays together and he could go shopping with her to insist she buy outfits that couldn't be accidentally mistaken as lingerie. He wouldn't have to share Mandy and Mickey on borrowed time.

 

That wasn't reality, though. They were all born cowards and they would all die cowards.

It constantly stayed the same, even if he was filled with nothing but courage.

 

 


	5. cataclasms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ian could have something to wake up for and mickey could have something to fall asleep next to and nothing else should matter.

       "Hey, Ian. Are you listening?"  The tall blonde, his buddy Craig from school, had stopped impatiently in front of him and turned around when he'd received no response.  
  
They had reached the bottom steps leaving their university building and Ian didn't even notice until he was running into the side of him, hands reaching for a steady body to stop himself from tumbling over. Craig gripped his arms too tightly and for too long but when he didn't say anything after an awkward amount of eye-contact Ian figured he missed something and that he should probably be caught up to speed on what exactly he'd been nodding his head about absentmindedly for the last five minutes.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Did you hear me?"  
  
"No, sorry."  
  
"It's fine. I was just saying, if you needed my notes from the lecture you missed on Monday, I made a copy for you.." The blonde pulled his backpack off of his shoulder and began to rummage through it for the papers. Ian wanted to tell him not to waste his time because he probably wouldn't be there for the test either but someone was shouting beside them and it broke his train of thought.  
  
"Ay, Gallagher." The voice was coming from a Lexus that was parked on the street three feet away. A dark tinted window was only cracked half an inch-- from this angle he couldn't even see through the windshield but his stomach flipped in a way that answered his curiosity before he could process anything.  
  
"You gonna get in or are you gonna stare some more?" Because after four and a half months of not seeing someone, this must be how a Milkovich thought you _reconnected amicably_ with someone.  
  
When the window rolled back up, his eyes focused on his own reflection against the glass and he tried to wipe the smile off his face by biting on the inside of his cheek. At the sound of automatic door locks clicking open his body gave in and betrayed his weak willpower almost immediately-- but that was nothing new. Legs covered in dark denim were pressed against the leather passenger seat before any neurons had a chance to fire off differently. To throw up red flags or warnings. Or maybe his mind had just given up on trying to stop the stupidity anymore.  
  
There was a moment as he shut the door that he thought this couldn't really be happening. Surely, he'd just had a stroke and died and Mickey was his shitty tour guide to the afterlife, the last sick joke someone could possibly play on him. But then he remembered Lip had told him once that you usually smelled something burning before you had a stroke and all he could smell was Mickey-- sweat masked with deodorant and hair gel and tobacco, though less gel than usual because his hair was shorter than he remembered it.  
  
"Who's that?" Mickey questioned, his head lowered as he leaned over to get a good look at Ian's friend. Craig was now standing alone, holding the lecture notes and looking confused. The redhead felt bad for a second because he had just gotten in the car and not said anything but they weren't really so much friends, as much as they were fucking each other after class sometimes so he didn't let it weigh too heavily.  
  
"No one. Just some guy I've been messing around with."  
  
"The fuck d'you see in him?"  
  
Ian wanted to say _he's everything you're not_ but he didn't bother and shrugged as if he weren't about to scream, holding back a slew of _fuck you_ 's and _say you're sorry_ 's. Would've just been pointless. An apology for the way he was treated the last time they'd talked wasn't going to happen. Being a little bitch about it wouldn't solve anything either but it was so fucking hard not to pick at the hurt of the lies that had scabbed over these past few months.  
  
He watched as the man's hand shadowed over the gun hidden below his sweatshirt. His gaze was still on Craig, though the kid had finally began to walk down the street when he realized Ian wasn't going to be getting back out.  
  
"Um.." Ian paused, eyes darting back from his classmate to his ridiculous and obviously mentally unsound friend. "Please don't kill the guy. _Does that really need to be said_?"  
  
Mickey scoffed at first, like Ian was the one being ludicrous before he looked down and his hand immediately twitched away from covered metal, landing on the stick shift to put the car in first gear instead-- like he'd only just realized where his subconscious had led his movement.  
  
"Wouldn't waste the bullet," Mickey assured, pulling out of his makeshift parking spot in front of a fire hydrant just as the campus security was walking up to knock on the window and ask them to move. He glanced around nervously in the rear view mirror when he turned off the main road onto a side street.  
  
"When did you get out?" Because _why not_. He already knew the answer-- Mandy had been texting him all morning and she mentioned they were going to pick him up today. But he didn't really know what else to say.  
  
He glanced over at him for a second before his jaw tightened. Ian couldn't help but smirk, knowing a lie was coming before it had even left it's owner's lips.  
  
"Couple days ago."  
  
"A couple _days_?"  
  
"Did I stutter?"  
  
"Whatever," Ian crossed his arms stubbornly across his chest as he stared out the window before mumbling bitterly under his breath, "missed you too." He pushed the button that rolled down his window because Mickey and thick air were filling his lungs to the point that it felt like it was getting harder to breathe.  
  
Mickey didn't say anything. Not that it was surprising or anything, since he'd swallowed the key when it came to words and emotions a long time ago and Ian didn't expect anything different.. But he did wonder if the guy understood he'd only unlocked a personal hell inside of him-- that he wouldn't be so angry and tense all the time if he'd just digest everything he was meant to feel instead of acting like some god damn robot.  
  
And that he would just sit there and pretend he could wait two days to see Ian when he clearly hadn't even been able to wait two hours. Who the hell did he think he was kidding?  
  
They were pulling into an empty space in the parking garage next to Ian's apartment building. Which could have been a normal thing, but it wasn't. Every offer ever extended was met with a _no thanks, queer bait_. But now he was just driving up, like he'd been invited. And Ian would ask how in the hell he knew where he lived when he'd never been there but that was a stupid question that would receive a stupid answer.  
  
"Anyone watchin' you here?" The car shut off with the twist of a key that was soon slipped into a pocket.  
  
"No." Once Mickey fell off the radar, Ian had gone back to being invisible under his father's watch and things really were better that way, even if sometimes he still somehow let it get him down.  
  
"Good."

 

* * *

 

  
  
        Ian's hand was so unsteady as he tried to unlock his front door that he had to stop for a moment and take a deep breath. He hoped Mickey didn't notice and as he glanced behind him to check, all the other man was doing was staring at him impatiently.  
  
It was a studio apartment and while it was nice, there was nothing special about it. He really didn't even like being here most of the time. It was so bizarre to come from the Gallagher house, always full of screaming kids and drama to his quiet little apartment. The walls were bare and felt nothing like home and he didn't attempt to make it any better, either. Only there were the cards Debbie and Carl had made him for his 19th birthday pinned to the fridge with magnets. That was usually enough to make him at ease when he felt home-sick and didn't want to take the 45 minute trip back to Chicago.

 

When he finally swung open the door, no longer than five seconds went by before Mickey was kicking it shut with his foot. As they tore each other's clothes off, they left weapons and cell phones spread amongst designer jeans and dirty shoes on the floor. He had tried to get on his knees in front of Mickey but the man just grabbed his elbows and tugged their bodies until they were falling on top of the comforter that was halfway covering the bed.  
  
No matter what had happened before, he would always let this be the end result. He would willingly allow the guy to rub his back against the notches on his bedpost-- To scratch away all of his insecurities and self loathing, to pretend they were okay. The sound springs creaking and metal hitting the plaster on the wall was their own little sanctuary.

 

The guy had been dead weight when Ian tried to turn him over so they just stayed like that, face to face. It wasn't _that_ out of the ordinary. But it'd never really felt like _this_ , either. Mickey had this thing, this overly confident habit of his where he would make this intense eye contact that had just made Ian fumble and lose his grip on the bottle of lube he'd just used to coat his fingers with. Their breathing was already labored from the anticipation and when he finally got the guy to relax, when he finally removed the two fingers and pushed in as deep as possible, Mickey's eyes squeezed shut and his lips parted and if he wasn't such a fucking pussy he would have kissed him right then and there.

 

Below him, their stomachs were less than an inch apart and he ached to be completely covered head to toe with skin on skin but he wouldn't have been able to keep up the pace at that angle and the guy looked like he was enjoying it too much. He had both his palms pressed to the headboard above him, doing his best to push himself back down even though the redhead was already jolting his hips forward as hard as he possible could. Mickey liked the pain. And Ian liked knowing he'd left a constant reminder of himself that would burn with every movement for at least a day.  
  
  
Sometimes, he would convince himself he could make the guy love him if he fucked him just a little bit harder. Like every slam of lower bodies meant he was one step closer to filling that void that gaped in the middle of the man, haphazardly stuffed between two lungs (but he had to remind himself there was no point in trying to fill a sinkhole). The crack was so large and hollow that once in a while Ian swore he could hear his own voice echo and reverberate through ribs-- the way Mickey shook when the redhead pressed his forehead against a clammy chest to groan out. He slowed down a little bit because he didn't want this to end as quickly as it was about to and used the excuse to whisper something out.  
  
"I missed you. I did." Because sometimes Ian's filter broke and he ended up saying things that were dumb and embarassing and made him feel vulnerable in a way no one wanted to be. So, he buried his face into the pillow that was supporting Mickey's head, trying to hide his red cheeks from judgmental eyes.  
  
Slicked lips pressed against his ear. Not in a kiss kind of way.. Just in a making contact way, disappointingly. The breath was hot and it made the hairs on his arms stand up when he heard him breathe out, "Yeah."  
  
That was as close to an _I missed you too_ as anything.

 

Mickey came first, which happened as soon as he had reached between their hips to grab ahold of his cock but he didn't stop pushing back until Ian came too.

 

Afterwards, when he had collapsed next to him and closed his eyes to regain composure, the smell of cigarette smoke filling his nostrils upset him. He didn't know if it was because he was annoyed the guy had just _assumed_ he could smoke in here or if it was the fact that he'd been mentally preparing himself for the past 30 seconds for his lover to get up, get dressed and leave. To act like they didn't just share some kind of stupid moment.

 

But he didn't. He just laid there, puffing away, staring up at the ceiling. His hand came down to scratch at his stomach but his face twisted when fingertips slid against his own cum sprayed against his skin. Just as Ian was moving to reach for something to wipe it off, he felt the same damp fingers clutch his arm, pulling him back down on top of the dark haired guy that looked so good in his bed he considered locking them both inside this apartment forever. But the only thing in his fridge was a bottle of mustard and some leftovers from like, _two weeks ago_ , minimum. So maybe he needed to go grocery shopping before pretending to kidnap people and letting them starve to death.

 

"Clean it up," the older one demanded, the cigarette dangling out of his lips as his fingers gripped so tight against freckled flesh that they left white imprints when he let go.

 

"Yeah, I was just going to grab a--"

 

"No, I want _you_ to clean it up," Mickey smirked and cocked an eyebrow up suggestively.  
  
Ian couldn't help the half-smile that cracked his features. When he had been pulled back down before, he'd moved to straddle his waist but Mickey was now pushing on his shoulder, growing impatient. He watched as the guy began to use the glass of water on the nightstand as an ashtray and wondered when he'd started to think he was entitled to so many things.  
  
Of course, Ian was wondering that while he began to slowly kiss down his chest so maybe the point was lost on him, as usual. Maybe Mickey didn't _think_ he was entitled to things, maybe something in the way the redhead looked at him just let him _know_ he was. He decided that was okay, of course, but only because when he made his way to the guy's belly button he'd felt his back arch underneath him to press his stomach closer against swollen lips. His tongue slipped out to lick up the sticky substance, until the flesh was covered in a light sheen of saliva instead. He was a little bashful during the process, admittedly, not at all as assured as he wished he could be but the blue eyed one was laying there with that fucking stare again and who could stay completely calm under something like that?  
  
"Who's the bitch now?" Mickey chuckled to himself, tonguing the corner of his mouth in a way that was endearing most of the time but right now, the redhead kind of just wanted to smother him with a pillow. He settled for hitting the side of his fist against the guy's chest, causing a loud _oomph_ as he rolled off to lay on his back next to his lover once again.

 

"Probably _still_ the one who takes it up the ass." This earned Ian a punch back and before he knew it they were wrestling each other, trying to pin body parts down to the matress without losing hold. Mickey won, like always. But Ian told himself that he let him, just to let him hang onto his pride. Definitely not because the guy could moonlight as a boxer or because he was afraid of losing a tooth in the commotion.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

  
         "It's late. Mind if I just crash here?" They had both pulled their boxers back on but ended up laying back on the bed and Ian was trying to come up with some kind of way to ask Mickey if he wanted to stay over without sounding like a major homo so the relief of the sentence came out in a sighed but forcefully nonchalant _sure, no problem_.

 

They were close enough on the sheets that the redhead could feel the hairs of their arms barely touching and he wanted to curl into him and rest his head on his chest but he knew Mickey hated that. It was like he was afraid the younger one would find out he really did have a heart-- like Ian didn't already know that the beats quickened whenever he got close.  
  
"We should do this more often," Gallagher mused, still on a high from the endorphin rush five minutes ago. Mickey rolled his eyes and grabbed for the blanket that had been kicked to the floor, pulling it over himself before offering him some as well. 

 

"Yeah and maybe we can go to a wine tasting and buy matching outfits afterwards, too."

 

"You're the one who was wearing my hoodie today."

 

"Hang on-- that is not _your_ fuckin' hoodie."

 

"Sure it is. I stole it from Lip like a year ago when he forgot it in my car."

 

And Ian had went and brought up one of those names that seemed to stitch Mickey's lips together like nothing other than maybe talking about feelings could. He didn't even understand why he hated him so much but the only culprit could be lies told from his father, because Lip rarely went out of his way to piss off the Milkovich family and when he did it he always had good reasoning.

There was information he had learned a while ago, only attained through a certain drunken stupor the guy laying next to him achieved after five too many beers. He had told him that he didn't sleep much, how his mind was constantly on edge and that sometimes he wouldn't get any sleep at all. The knowledge made hearing him pass out, his breathing steadying within moments, just that much more comforting.

 

  
Ian was too busy daydreaming about conversations that would never happen to bother focusing on rest. Like the one where he told Mickey how good they would be for each other if he'd just give him a fucking chance. How he could have something to wake up for and Mickey could have something to fall asleep next to and how nothing else should matter.  
  
The sound of Mickey's cellphone ringing startled them both. There was a deep, annoyed groan that escaped before the guy was blindly rolling over to reach on the floor for the culprit, answering in a sleepy voice as he rubbed at his eye with his free hand.

 

"What do you want?" It was one of the guy's brother's. Ian would know those voices anywhere, even if it was faint and barely audible. But when he continued to speak, Mickey gave him a dirty look and crawled out of the bed-- putting enough distance between them that the redhead couldn't hear the one on the other end of the phone at all.

 

He must have had a lot to say. Or maybe since the phones weren't even safe anymore, he was trying to explain something without saying it at all and those were the hardest type of conversations. He just stood there, one hand pressing the phone up to his ear while the other dangled the t-shirt he'd grabbed back from off the floor. His eyes were dead even with Ian's and it was seriously unnerving, the way his face fell before he quickly secured back on the mask that everything was fine. He didn't look away until he opened his mouth to speak, turning around to face the balcony window. 

 

" _Tonight_?" Mickey's voice had grown quieter but there was no point in whispering, the redhead would be able to hear him anyway. "Alright, fuck, Iggy. Will you shut up? I'll be there in an hour."  
  
"I gotta go." He moved to pull his t-shirt on, slipping it easily over his head, then pulled his jeans back on after. He grabbed his gun off of the floor and glanced at it for a moment before sliding it into his waistband with a sigh. "Stay here tonight, alright?" Mickey began to move towards the door, not bothering putting the hoodie back on and leaving it in it's place on the ground instead.  
  
"What's going on? Is Mandy okay?"

"This has nothing to do with Mandy. Did you hear me? _Stay here_."

 

"I think if I have to stay here I should at least get to know why."

 

"Good thing I still don't give a shit."

 

Mickey was now reaching for the door handle when Ian realized he was standing in his boxers in front of him, trying to come up with any excuse to get the guy to stay. Or at least explain what was so important.

 

"Look, I'll call you in a couple days. Just don't do anything fuckin' stupid."

 

And what did that even mean?

 

The door was slamming shut before he got a chance to ask.

 

So, he just sort of laid on his bed, alone again. As hard as he tried to focus on sleep this time, it seemed to want nothing to do with him.

 

It had to have been two hours later when he finally received a text message, although it was from the wrong Milkovich.

 

 **From** : Mandy

_4:09 AM_

Ian- Don't call or Text back (Dads here). I'm worried my brothers r goin 2 do somethin stupid. tell Lip not to leave Franks.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was not proof read one bit i'm sorry :(


	6. cages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's usually right when you have everything figured out that it all collapses.

            The club's narrow alley that lead to the cab Lip had called was blocked by a silhouette-- but under the haze of mixed drinks and bitter shots, his brain wasn't allowing him to focus on details. His cell phone in the pocket of his jeans buzzed for what must have been the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes and he was finally, reluctantly about to pull it out and attempt to sound sober enough for a conversation but stopped short at the feeling of metal pressed against his chest, the thin white t-shirt doing nothing to stop the cold from the steel. It wasn't until the gun barrel lifted to point directly between his eyes that he was motivated to blink frantically until the face of the man standing in front of him became clear.    
  
"Mickey?" Lip tried to take a step back to distance himself from him but ended up stumbling over the back of his own shoe. His hands instinctively grabbed for a pistol that was hidden in the inner pocket of his jacket but his feet weren't listening to his demands and he almost tripped forward this time-- the gun now waving haphazardly between their bodies.  
  
"Jesus christ, give me that." Mickey reached first for Lip's shirt to steady him before he tried to take the weapon away. There were noises of protest, even a half-assed attempt at pushing him away but before he could manage anything, tattooed fingers were clutching the only sense of security he had left. Mickey inspected it and shook his head disappointingly,  "Who the fuck carries around a gun without a silencer on it?"  
  
"Oh I don't know.. Maybe people that _aren't_ hitmen?"  
  
At the sound of his words slurring and the way his head felt like it'd been spun in a dryer the entire night he was suddenly regretting at least the last five tequila shots, if not the orange juice and vodka too. But the owner of the club had stayed late with him to discuss business opportunities and he wasn't the type to turn down free liquor. That would just be rude.  
  
Lip stared intently as Mickey clicked the safety off of his own gun. For some reason, he wasn't all that scared of him. His pulse was still raised and he could feel his body go into survival mode but if he had planned on killing him, he would have done it already. And if he was still going to kill him, Lip thought about telling the guy he should maybe work on the awkward encounters beforehand and skip straight to the shooting. Because this was surreal and almost comical to him in his current state.  
  
Mickey Milkovich, just standing in front of him, looking expectant as if Lip had been the one stalking him at god-knows-what hour in the morning. His eyes were shifty and he kept looking behind the both of them.  
  
"So uh, long time no see, huh?" There was a sour burp that left Lip's mouth after he finished his sentence and his face twisted, swallowing down the little bit of bile that threatened to escape. "Shouldn't you be ruining my brother's life somewhere? Or did you decide to fuck over a different Gallagher tonight."  
  
"I don't know what the hell you're talking about but it's a good thing I don't know how to explain getting close enough to sock you and not kill you 'cause you're pushin' your fuckin' luck, man."  
  
"So you're not here to kill me then?" Lip pressed a palm against the siding of one of the buildings they were sandwiched between, using it as support for the current wobbly state of his equilibrium. "Well, I guess consider me confused.. Isn't that all you're good for?"  
  
His entire life had been full of self destructively pushing boundaries--  so, it came as no surprise when he found himself doubled over with a searing pain in his gut from a fist that felt like a god damn brick. He spit out some saliva that he couldn't bring himself to swallow, the urge to vomit creeping up through his torso once again.  
  
"Look, if I don't do this," Mickey started, wringing out his hand that probably ached from the force of the punch. His head jerked behind him in a paranoid manner when a pile of leaves at the end of the alley was disturbed by the wind before turning back to finish, "we're both dead. But if I really do it, well my sister would have my fuckin' head instead, right?"  
  
Lip tried to lick his lips to buy himself some time before he had to speak but his tongue felt like sandpaper. Sometimes, he wished he listened to his instincts. When he was getting ready to leave earlier, he had a feeling tonight would turn out to be shit. Turned out he was right. Because he really needed to take a piss but he couldn't and his girlfriend's brother had just stated he knew about the relationship they'd been hiding from everyone. Including Ian. And Lip felt guilty just then. Because he should have told Ian everything when it first happened. But he didn't want to give him any more ammunition when it came to reasons for thinking a relationship with a Milkovich would ever be a good idea.  
  
"Why would Mandy give a shit?" His words were starting to slur more, not just from the intoxication but from exhaustion. He'd been out of bed since early yesterday morning and now the sun was beginning to come up behind a light shield of clouds again and all he wanted was his mattress and a pillow and a Xanax.  
  
Mickey didn't speak at first. He just stared at him blankly before he cocked his head to the side, an annoyed grunt escaping when he probably came to the conclusion that Lip wasn't going to admit anything. But there was a sudden doubt lining the inside of Lip's mouth and he couldn't help but inquire for answers.  
  
"Does he know? Ian. About Mandy, I mean. 'Cause I really think I should be the one to tell him, it might ups--"  
  
" _This has nothing to do with them_." Lip was cut off with something that could only be described as a growl.   
  
He had never seen someones demeanor change so quickly at such a simple request. But the guy was clearly growing impatient with the bullshit and Lip wished he'd just get to the fucking point of this already. Actually, he really wished he would have answered him but he wouldn't push the subject. Not when Mickey had a gun in each hand and a bead of sweat running down his forehead.  
  
"So why are you here?"  
  
Mickey sighed. "Quit playing stupid, man. You know why."  
  
 _Oh_.  
  
"I did that as a favor, Mickey. The Russians _are_ working with the fucking FBI. Why would I make that up? As much as I hate you and your family, Mandy could go down for that shit too. She's too involved."  
  
"I don't care _why_ you did it. You think I didn't already know that? You think I ain't been telling my dad to quit messing with them for months? It doesn't matter. Terry wants you dead. Just do as I fuckin' say and we both get outta this alive, alright? Here's what happened. I tried to shoot you, but you got me in my leg first and ran too fast for me to get a good shot. So I was only able to hit you in the shoulder. Got it?"  
  
No. He didn't get it. At all.  
  
Mickey didn't wait for any reassurances.

 

"Turn around."

 

* * *

  
  
  
  
        "I can't believe he would-- I just.. Thank god you're okay." Ian was pacing around his older brother's room, hands clasped behind his back. He hadn't been able to form a coherent since he'd received the phone call from Fiona and ran out of his apartment-- the usual 45 minute drive only taking him 20. The inside of his mouth was torn to shreds from anxiety fueled biting. It tasted like copper and was the only thing grounding him at the moment.  
  
"He's not that bad." Lip tried to shrug, but winced when his bandaged shoulder stung. He was propped up against the wall on his bed, a cigarette dangling from his lips. His cell phone kept buzzing with messages and Ian vaguely wondered who the hell would need to text him that much.  
  
" _What_?"  
  
"He didn't kill me, Ian. Really, he just returned a favor. You wouldn't understand."  
  
"So make me understand." Ian stopped directly in front of the bed. His skin burned from a mixture of anger and guilt but he straightened his shoulders and tried to look like his already fraying seams weren't being ripped in each direction. He tried to tell himself he wasn't worried about whether or not Mickey was okay and that the only thing that mattered was his brother was here and alive and safe. He tried to not feel betrayed. He tried to accept that he was naive and stupid for ever thinking he could change someone who had a long history of savageness running through their veins. But really, he wanted to comprehend why Lip seemed so unshaken.  
  
"Look, I gotta tell you something. I should have told you a long time ago and I know that, okay? But I'm telling you now, that's all that you should care about."

He already knew that it was usually right when he thought he had everything figured out that it would collapse in front of him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this was so short. this chapter annoyed me to no end and that's why i put it off for so long. but the next one is my favorite so stick with me here ;)


End file.
